The power of Avalar’s touch on his neck brought him back to the mosaic and the echoes of Holram’s voice. The warder had climbed from Mornius’s hard crystal heart into his warm and beating one. It was a violation worse than anything Seth Lavahl could ever have done.
Groaning, Gaelin pulled away from Terrek and retched. Around him, his watching companions stood mutely. When at last the spasms ebbed, he scrubbed at his mouth, squirming under Terrek’s stare. Then, leaning forward, he clasped his staff. He had dropped it, but he could not remember when.
With a grateful nod, he accepted the flask of roy Terrek offered to cleanse his mouth. “He never asked me, Terrek. He never even asked!”
Terrek was silent, waiting for him to sip the sweet ale and regain his composure. Gaelin met the sympathy in Terrek’s eyes. The firelight showed him something else lurking there too: hope. The man he admired felt gladness in this thing, a chance for the world’s survival.
“I don’t have a choice, do I?” Gaelin said bitterly. “I’m the tool, right? What I want for my life doesn’t matter.”
“Your influence is greater than you think.” Terrek gripped his shoulders. “Gaelin, this is why he preserved this castle. The books have knowledge he wants us to keep. And this mosaic, too, had a message he wanted to impart to us. We couldn’t understand it, so he used your voice to explain it.”
“Without my permission!”
Terrek gave him a light shake. “How would you feel right now if he had chosen to speak through Roth or me instead?”
Roth swung from the wall of books at the mention of his name. The dusty tome he held fell open, scattering tiny brownish flakes on the floor. “Terrek,” he said. He touched a crumbling page, then set the book on a square wooden table. “I think this is what he meant.”
Terrek climbed to his feet to join his lieutenant.
“And this, what is it?” Roth asked, taking up a lantern from the little table. “Shouldn’t there be a wick right here?”
“It has a wick,” said Terrek. “There was a cleaner example at university. Our ancestors put the wicks inside the glass. I have no idea how they got them lit.”
Roth tugged at a black cord angling to the floor from the table. “There’s a leash, too, connecting it to the wall.”
“Wire,” Terrek supplied the word. “One of the things elves forbid. We can rediscover some of the lore we had on Earth, but not all, not that. There was a Seeker on campus who acted as an advisor to keep us in—”
Gaelin jerked back when Avalar’s feet stopped in front of him. She crouched, her thumb raising his chin.
“You have the same look my father gets when he thinks about freedom too much,” she said. Her voice caught, a single tear sliding down her cheek. “My people were slaves. Their magic made them thus after the humans turned it on them, just as yours betrays you now. In the darkness of the mines, giants dreamt of better days. They would envision their farms on Thalus or their ancient southern homes on Tholuna. Many of them met their deaths with their dream of returning home unrealized. Others were born and perished, never once beholding the sun. Even now our freedom is naught but delusion. For the sake of our magic, we must live protected by elves. I say this is not freedom. Sacrifice to save a world seldom allows such things.”
His pain forgotten, Gaelin raised his hand to her face. “If the elves want you guarded, why are you here? Why aren’t they searching for you?”
“What makes you think they are not?” she asked. She took the flask from his swollen fingers and sealed it. Then she straightened to tower above him. “You fear this presence reaching for you. I understand, for no one wishes to be a slave. Yet consider. This warder is similar to us, is he not? He longs for freedom as we do, and to reach his full potential. You and I wish for these things as well. I yearn to protect this land as a giant should. While you—mayhap you wish for someone to hold you as I did on the trail.”
“No,” he said. “I want to learn to ride horseback by myself so I’m not a burden. I wish to be fearless like Terrek or loyal like him.” He jerked his head at Roth, who caught his look and shrugged.
At that, Avalar nodded. She flexed her wide shoulders, her big hand swatting at the dust.
Terrek turned toward him. “If we make it through this, Gaelin, I will bring you to Vale Horse and teach you how to ride horses myself.”
Gaelin scrubbed at his eyes. “Holram took me over,” he said gruffly. “Why?”
“He wanted to describe to us how Erebos attacked Earth, and he asked us to locate this.” Terrek lifted the heavy volume and placed it at an angle in Gaelin’s lap so he could see. The tome was thick, with strange letters on the cover, and carried with it a mossy smell.
“He told us where on these shelves to search,” Terrek continued, letting the pages fall open. “Take a look, Staff-Wielder. I know you can’t read it. But notice the pictures. Do you recognize these?”
While Terrek flipped the pages one by one, Gaelin saw images of horses or cattle of various kinds, sheep, ducks, lizards, and goats. He identified wolves and raccoons, lemurs and lioncats, diradil deer, and partial images of creatures he thought he knew. “Look at the trees,” he murmured. “They’re all green.”
“And the animals,” Terrek said. “We’ve encountered some of these, haven’t we? They lived on Earth just as we did. A planet where the magic was smothered by our technology and greed. Talenkai’s guardian, Sephrym, brought them here with us when he harvested the power of our sun.
“I found a relic close to Vale Horse,” Terrek went on, “made of glass and a rusted kind of metal and some other flexible substance. It had four metal disks supporting it, and skeletons of what appeared to be chairs. Why is it here? Why do we keep finding these . . . remnants from Earth? Because the warders resisted when Sephrym caught them up, and they grabbed at the world they were fighting over. It was a reflex, not intentional, yet it brought us here, with these animals and debris like this castle. Holram told us all this through you, Gaelin. You’ve become his voice.”
“His slave is more like it,” Gaelin complained under his breath. He stroked the book’s fragile pages, tracing the symbols on the front. The binding felt like leather, but at the one torn corner, strings of fabric peeked out.
“Gaelin,” Terrek said. “You mentioned earlier how you felt called to this place, and you insist someone is trapped here. During your vision, Roth checked in all the rooms he could reach. Most have locked doors or are beyond where the floors have collapsed.”
“There’s a room filled with masks upstairs,” Roth added, “and costumes of all kinds. There are bendable knives and swords, and jewelry with gems that aren’t real. I wish we could—”
“The point is, no one’s here,” Terrek cut in. “Gaelin, there is no trapped warrior.”
Gaelin gestured to the floor and the mosaic’s pattern of stars. “Holram’s thoughts drown me out,” he said. “Half the time I can’t even tell what you’re saying, he’s so loud. The only reason I still hear at all is that I resist him. What happens if I stop? Will I even exist?”
He hesitated, remembering Avalar’s story about her people. The meaning of it became clear to him all at once, and he regretted his petulant words. Talenkai’s survival depended on him, on his sacrifice and surrender. “He is here,” Gaelin said. “There’s a room right above us. A chamber filled with swords.”
Roth sputtered a protest. “They’re all fake, as I said. I checked it already. There’s nothing, just cobwebs and blunted weapons.”
“Look again,” Gaelin insisted. “There’s one blade that is very real, and if you find it you’ll find him. “He’s a warrior—Holram’s friend.”
“His friend,” Terrek muttered while he gave Roth the book. Then he strode to the nearby stairs.
As Terrek started to climb, Gaelin rose to follow. When Avalar sighed, he paused. “But there are swords and shields,” he told her. “Even if they aren’t real, it might be interesting.”
“I would enjoy the advent
ure, I am sure, but no. Do you hear?” She motioned to the marble steps groaning under Terrek’s weight. “The stairs fail. They might support a human, or mayhap even three, but not a giant. No, I am unsuited for this place.”
Avalar turned away, the top of her head brushing the ceiling. Her lips curved up, her expression filling with wonder as she moved to examine the shelves of books.
“Behold! she exclaimed. “These writings come from a different world!” Her eyes glinted as she peered over her shoulder at his face. “Be not concerned for me, Staff-Wielder. There is much to occupy me here.”
“Gaelin!” Terrek thundered. Already Roth was halfway up the twisted staircase, running with his sword drawn. Gripping Mornius like a spear, Gaelin sprinted after the younger man.
Chapter 22
GAELIN FELT THE fracture beneath him as he pursued Roth up the steps. He halted at the top near the landing to look in both directions, his focus drawn to the candles in their sconces sputtering between the shuttered rooms. Is every lamp lit? he wondered, glancing at his staff. If my thoughts did this, wouldn’t I know it? He started, seeing Roth slip from his sight.
No door, Gaelin observed as he hurried to the entrance Roth had chosen. Snatching a breath, he ventured into the gloomy chamber, its narrow window barely visible through the dust.
He swatted away the cobwebs dragging at his neck. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he spotted Terrek at the center of the cramped space, a row of orange-colored bins beyond him along the wall. The containers were packed with items covered with grime, while above them four metal shelves dangled askew, with more treasure—pint-sized daggers and swords—scattered below on the wooden floor.
Gaelin stopped an arm’s length from his friend. He could sense Terrek’s revulsion, the commander glaring at the moldering scabbard he held. With a feeling of dread, Gaelin met his stare.
“You two,” Terrek said. “Pay attention. Tell me what you see when I draw this.”
Gaelin touched the sword’s moss-colored hilt, the rotted leather flopping around its base. As Terrek yanked the blade free, Gaelin jerked up his staff, seeing a green-gold smoke pour from the exposed steel. The vapor swirled beneath the ceiling, condensing into the shape of a man, its gray head and body obscuring the faded tapestries behind it. The semblance of a bearded face appeared above the hint of a muscular neck. Gaelin shuddered, struggling to speak as the entity rose over him, its ghostly armored torso encircled by streamers of green. “Is that . . . is that a—”
“Again?” the apparition thundered.
Gaelin cringed as a pattering of dead insects struck his hair. “That’s him!” he said. “The trapped warrior we’re supposed to—”
“Trapped?” Peering down his spectral nose, the dead knight crossed his arms over the hawk-shaped emblem on his breastplate. “I am dead, boy. Or you may call it cursed. I most certainly am that. Or thwarted, even. Yes, that works, too. Trying to decompose with dignity, and now here I am furious you would wake me twice!” he howled, his onyx eyes rimmed with white. “Do you have any idea who I am?”
“Wait,” Terrek said. “Holram’s warrior is a ghost?”
“Ghost?” the specter bellowed.
Gaelin heard a distant pop, and Avalar’s voice calling from below: “Leader Terr—”
“Stay where you are, Giant!” Terrek yelled. “We’ll be right—”
“I was a Thalian Knight when I was alive!” the spirit interrupted. “Lord Nathaniel Argus, to be exact. I was Commander Othelion’s body-shield, and the target of Arawn’s final spell, which I . . .”
Argus stopped, registering their blank reactions. “I can accept you don’t know my name after so many years, but surely you’ve heard tell of Othelion’s guard, or perhaps a song?”
“No,” said Terrek. “None that I know of.”
“The warder never told me what he was.” Gaelin, ignoring the ghost’s pink-faced sputters of outrage, uncovered his ears. “I heard a voice in my dreams say ‘fighter,’ and I saw images, too.” He closed his eyes, sifting through his thoughts for an explanation from Holram, but his staff was silent.
Terrek swung the ancient sword, hefting it again to test its weight. Gaelin saw that the metal hilt was carved into the shape of a snake’s head, the serpent’s open jaws forming the weapon’s crossguard. It’s beautiful, he thought.
“There haven’t been any knights,” Terrek said.
“Not since the battle at Warder’s Fall,” said Argus. “How long ago was that? The giants had just been enslaved . . .” He raised his transparent hands, counting on his phantom fingers. “Five hundred years? By my shield, has it been that long?”
Gaelin realized Roth was speaking. With the discordant tones of the entity’s outburst echoing in his ears, he barely discerned what the lieutenant was trying to say. Roth, his expression distraught, sidled up to Terrek, his elbow poking through the dead knight’s flat stomach.
Glancing down, Lord Argus scowled at the younger man.
“Terrek, answer me!” Roth demanded. “What are you talking to?”
“Humph!” Argus floated away from Roth. “I am a who, not a what!” he said. “Do we not educate our youth anymore? We let them run amok? When I was a lad, I treated my elders with respect! And I never—”
“There’s a ghost here,” said Terrek. “You don’t see him? He appears when I draw the sword from its scabbard.”
“I see him,” Gaelin said. “I also hear him and very little else!”
“Of course you do!” Argus stormed. The spirit grimaced when Gaelin plugged his ears, and with a transparent shrug, whispered so Gaelin strained to hear. “That’s how it is with these old-magic curses. The spell makes me visible to magical creatures.”
“Well, I’m glad I’m not you, Terrek,” Roth said. “I don’t like ghosts.” He knelt to examine the artifacts on the floor. “Commander?” Perplexed, he held up a furry, long-eared object. “What is all this stuff?”
“You,” said Argus, tilting his head at Terrek. “I am within your sight since you hold my sword. But Mister Elbows here cannot see me.” He pointed at Roth. “Ah, and now he’s found the magician’s props.” His fierce eyes glinting, Argus flitted down to Roth’s level. “Why, he’s a child. He seems a bit laori, too. Is he your son?”
“No!” Terrek shot back. “He is neither laori nor my son, and I’m tired of your rudeness. It’s clear to me you hoped to be found. Yours is the only real weapon in this room, and how curious that it ended up in plain sight. As for Roth—”
“There was nothing in this room,” Roth broke in. He sat cross-legged beside Terrek, a tall hat jiggling above his unruly brown hair. “I’m not blind. I would have noticed a real sword. I—”
“As for Roth,” Terrek repeated, “I think seventeen is old enough for him to decide to become a man. He wanted to fight after his family was killed. The towns have few men left. Erebos’s cult has taken them all.”
Gaelin regarded the hawk emblazoned across the warrior knight’s breastplate. The specter’s face that was not hidden by his beard was as lean and hungry as the bird on his chest, the suggestion of skin around his eyes creased by the pain he had endured long ago.
“You summoned me here,” Argus said. “Tell me why. Is there some point to this? I suspect Holram compelled you to come to this place, didn’t he? Still, curse or no, this place is home to me, and I’ve come to appreciate the peace and quiet. I don’t care what Holram says. I am not fighting Arawn.”
“He wants you to be free,” Gaelin said. “He wants—”
“You think I don’t know? He hopes I will do what you cannot. Fight the cult’s ghost and break the spell holding him here. In my day he was Lesedi Arawn. But he grew dark and brooding, his power consuming him until he turned on the giants. Speaking of which, you brought one with you, did you not?” Argus’s numinous gaze slid to Terrek. “She hasn’t spoken of him?”
“She didn’t have to,” said Terrek. “We’re familiar with the slaver lord. His first cult t
urned the giants’ magic against them. Now his dachs do the same thing to us.”
“Oh, ‘against them’? ” Argus grunted and rolled his eyes. “Is that what we call it now? It was abhorrent, what they did to those great people.” Argus coughed, his contempt fading as he caught sight of Gaelin’s baffled stare. “Reflex,” he explained. “I see dust and I forget I’m dead.” He paused to scrutinize Gaelin. “I can’t get over how much you resemble my commander, Jaegar Othelion. You must be related. He was a good man. Ruthless and wicked with his blade!”
As Gaelin studied the knight, his mother’s long-ago words echoed through his thoughts. “He never fought with this, Gaelin, but your great-grandfather’s father did.”
Gaelin jerked when the dead knight snorted. The ghost floated upward within his green light to hover in front of the encrusted window. “I spent my prime fighting Erebos’s cult,” Argus said. “Or I did until Arawn cornered me and slew me with the Blazenstone. It’s because of him my bones are on that cliff. Yes, right below those boulders you disturbed! In fact, you would have seen my kneecap if you had turned your head.” He nodded to Gaelin. “Your shoulder was right by it.”
“You’re afraid,” Gaelin said. “He murdered you and now you fear him.”
Argus growled. “As should you, my boy. Or you would if you had any sense. His magecraft turns water to acid and molds living flesh, obliterating minds.” The spirit stretched out his wrist, his appendage vanishing through the windowpane. “Did you see the things that attacked Tierdon? Those were his abominations, and I enabled that to happen. The curse he put on me holds him here as well.”
“And Erebos uses him,” Terrek muttered. “Arawn’s ghost is just another weapon. A tool.”
“Precisely,” said Argus. “No doubt hoping to live again.”
Song Of Mornius Page 17
